by Jenny Holmes
‘No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.’
‘Sly little turncoat – that’s what.’ Ivy rolled the words around her tongue as she idly wound the scarf around her neck. ‘That’s what you get for disappearing for hours on end with enemy POWs and airmen.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ Lost for words, Kathleen stormed out of the outhouse and bumped into Joyce who had been attracted by the sound of raised voices. She nodded towards the shed. ‘Ivy’s in there, saying nasty things about Una fraternizing with the enemy. Why don’t you see if you can knock some sense into her?’
‘Leave it to me.’ Joyce pushed open the door to find Ivy tying a knot in the scarf and tucking the ends inside her coat. ‘What are you doing with Una’s scarf?’ she demanded.
‘Oh, it’s hers, is it?’ Ivy decided in a flash that attack was the best means of defence. ‘So this is where she and Jerry disappeared to last night! They weren’t out roaming the fell side – they were hidden away in here for part of the time, having a cosy little chinwag.’
Joyce rushed at Ivy, seized the scarf and tightened it around her throat. ‘You take that back! You hear me? I won’t have Una’s name being dragged through the mud.’
Though Ivy was strong, Joyce was stronger. It was impossible to throw her off and she was in danger of being throttled. ‘All right,’ she gasped.
‘Take it back?’ Joyce slowly released her, keeping hold of one end of the scarf as she did so before shoving Ivy back against the easel, which clattered to the floor.
‘All right, all right – keep your hair on.’ Ivy too landed on the ground. She picked herself up and quickly made her way to the door where she tried to regain some ground. ‘I’m only saying what everyone else is saying – Una took an age to hand the enemy gunner over to the search party last night. Then Grace and Brenda found her alone with him in Peggy Russell’s barn. That surely has to make you stop and think.’
‘Ivy McNamara, you make me sick!’ Joyce strode to the door and slammed it after her. It clattered shut and she was left in the dark, clutching Una’s scarf with a trembling hand. It was ten whole minutes before she felt calm enough to go back to the house. Meanwhile, she set the easel upright and picked up an overturned chair. She stacked the shovels more neatly then emerged from the outhouse and stared up at the first floor of the big house – at the room occupied by Una, Kathleen and Brenda. There was a figure at the window. The person saw her looking and moved quickly away. An unexpected shiver of doubt passed through Joyce as she pocketed Una’s scarf and slowly crossed the yard.
It was mid afternoon when Edith drove herself out to Fieldhead. Bill had offered to take her but she’d refused.
‘There’s the matter of the Christmas rota to sort out,’ she’d told him. ‘And final arrangements to be made for tomorrow night’s show. Then Hilda will want to discuss her report about last night’s events before she sends it off to Area HQ. It could take until teatime.’
‘I don’t mind – let me drive you anyway.’
‘No thank you, dear. You have too much to do as it is.’ She’d insisted and he’d given in. They went their separate ways.
Edith tried hard to keep her mind fixed on her Land Army responsibilities, hardly noticing landmarks on her way. Driving gave her a measure of control – her gloved hands on the wheel, frequent glances in her overhead mirror, using her indicator, depressing the clutch every time she wanted to change gear. She concentrated on calculating wages and overtime due to each girl, on average hours and final arrangements for Christmas leave. She didn’t think about the hospital.
‘Stand by your beds,’ Brenda remarked to Una when she saw Edith’s car turn into the drive. They sat together in the common room, doing nothing much, hardly talking, each lost in a world of her own. ‘Here comes trouble.’
Edith drew up in front of the main entrance. She noticed that the drive had been cleared and the slowly melting snow was neatly and evenly banked to either side. Hilda had spotted the car from her office window and was at the door to welcome her.
‘How’s Vince?’ Hilda asked straight out. There was no telling from Edith’s blank expression what the answer would be.
‘Weak. Tired. He was sleeping when we left.’ The staccato reply disguised an almost unbearable pressure that wasn’t relieved by the answer she gave. Vince had survived the operation but he wasn’t yet out of the woods, Dr Renshaw had explained. Recovery would be slow.
‘Of course. Come into the office.’ Hilda led the way across the hall. She sat Edith down then went to the common room to ask Brenda to make them both a cup of tea.
Weak. Not so much sleeping as drifting in and out of consciousness. Left alone, Edith admitted the truth to herself. Vince had lain with his eyes sunken into their sockets, wearing the pallor of a dead man, the rise and fall of his chest scarcely visible beneath the thin green blanket.
The heart surgeon was a small, bald man with steel-rimmed glasses and a quiet, calm voice that conveyed no emotion. ‘The operation took a little longer than expected due to certain complications, which fortunately we were able to overcome. The effects of the anaesthetic won’t wear off for several hours. I recommend that the patient has uninterrupted rest – in other words, no visitors until morning. Meanwhile, you should go home and wait for further news.’
Weak, tired, sleeping. Alive.
Bill had led her down the corridor out into the car park. The cold had cut through her. She’d been unable to speak all the way back to Burnside.
‘Tea.’ Hilda accepted the tray from Brenda who delivered it meekly and left straight away. She put in three teaspoons of sugar and stirred vigorously before positioning the cup in front of the troubled rep. ‘Are you all right, Edith? Are you sure you shouldn’t be at home resting?’
‘Yes, thank you – I’m sure. Now, do you have a list of girls wishing to go home over Christmas?’
Hilda took the list out of a drawer. ‘Only five have put their names down. Many live too far away. Some of the others – like Una, for instance – feel it’s their duty to stay …’
‘Yes, farm work doesn’t grind to a complete halt just because it happens to be Christmas.’ Edith studied the short list then sighed. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help you keep an eye on everyone last night. You had your hands full, I expect.’
‘Yes, but Bill made it through the fog with Grace and Edgar.’ Hilda wasn’t sure how much Edith had heard so she trod carefully. ‘He’s probably given you an idea of what went on. Two airmen died but one survived the crash and was missing for a while. Bill had a hand in capturing him, so all’s well that ends well, as they say.’
‘He mentioned that three of our girls went out onto the fell and played their part in the rescue.’
‘Together with Grace,’ Hilda added.
Edith passed no comment on Grace’s involvement. ‘Brenda, Joyce and Una – am I right? I’m assuming they disregarded orders to the contrary?’
Edith’s doggedness put Hilda on the defensive. A mottled flush crept up her neck. ‘Joyce did. Brenda and Una took things into their own hands and left before I had a chance to issue the order. In any case, I dealt with them first thing this morning. I reminded them of their responsibilities as Land Girls and left it at that.’
‘But this is a serious matter.’ Edith was worried that the girls’ disobedience would be bad for morale. ‘You don’t see it as a reason for possible referral to HQ?’
‘Far from it. They’re all much too valuable to us to pursue this any further. Take Joyce, for instance – she’s been with us for over a year and she’s one of the steadiest, most willing workers I’ve come across.’
‘Joyce, maybe. But you can’t say the same for Brenda and Una.’ Unwilling to let the matter drop, Edith pushed her teacup and saucer to one side. ‘Let me be frank, Hilda. Take Brenda, for a start – she may be a hard worker but she’s not the most biddable of our girls.’
‘She’s spirited, I admit.’
‘Quite so. And I�
��ve noticed that Una, by way of contrast, is a little naive.’
Hilda cocked her head enquiringly to one side.
‘By which I mean that she doesn’t quite know how to – shall we say – keep her distance from the Italian POWs.’ It was Edith’s turn to blush and look awkward. ‘It came to my attention at Sunday’s dress rehearsal.’
‘Liaisons between our girls and the prisoners are not forbidden and I’m not even sure that it’s our business,’ Hilda said quickly. ‘And I don’t see how we can stop it either, unless we introduce a new rule that the Land Army can no longer send recruits to work alongside POWs.’
‘No – we can’t do that.’ Edith thought for a while. ‘But if Una’s lack of worldliness has led her into an unsuitable friendship I do think that it behoves me as the local Land Army representative to have a word with her.’
Much as she wanted to resist Edith’s stiff puritanism, Hilda could see her point. ‘We don’t want a repetition of what happened to Eunice – that’s true. But I’ve given Una the day off to recover from her ordeal. Perhaps you would let me talk to her tomorrow morning, especially bearing in mind what else you have on your plate at the moment?’
Edith considered this as a way forward then nodded. ‘Yes, by all means. I’ll leave it to you.’
‘Good.’
‘Meanwhile, Hilda, please make sure that morale in the hostel doesn’t suffer.’
‘I’ll do my best.’ The warden’s terseness signalled an end to this part of the conversation.
Edith took a red notebook from her handbag and opened it. ‘Let’s move on to the next item, shall we? I’ve had a complaint from Ivy that she hasn’t been paid her overtime in full. Her hours don’t tally with Horace Turnbull’s. She has three extra hours at Winsill Edge for the week beginning Monday the eighth of December. Horace has two. Now, who’s in the right, I wonder?’
Joyce shook the momentary doubt about Una from her mind as a dog shakes water from its back. What had she been thinking, to consider even for a second that Ivy’s suspicions might be justified? She carried the red scarf straight up to Una’s room and knocked on the door.
‘Come in.’ Feeling that she ought to be obeying orders, Una had come upstairs to rest soon after Hilda had taken Edith into her office. She’d been looking out of the bedroom window when Joyce had crossed the yard so wasn’t surprised by her visit. ‘This is nice. Come and sit on the bed. Is that my scarf you’ve got there?’
‘Yes. Ivy found it in one of the outhouses.’ Joyce handed it to her then sat uneasily at the end of the bed.
‘I wondered where this had gone.’ The scarf had been last year’s Christmas present from Tom and she’d been sorry to have mislaid it. ‘Where did you say Ivy found it?’
‘In the outhouse where we store old school desks and such like – you know the one?’
‘No, I don’t think I do.’
‘That’s odd, then.’ Odd, but a relief for Joyce to hear that Ivy’s vicious suspicions were so easily proved wrong. ‘Someone else must have found it lying around then forgotten to give it back to you. They must have left it there by mistake.’
‘No harm done.’ Una folded the soft woollen scarf then put it on her bedside cabinet. Noticing the edge of her precious carved box poking out from under her pillow, she blushed and was about to surreptitiously push it out of sight when she checked herself and drew it out into full view instead. ‘It’s where I keep Angelo’s letters,’ she confessed with touching openness. ‘I read them every night – over and over again.’
Joyce let out a small sigh. ‘Aah – young love!’
Stung by the amused tone, Una regretted showing Joyce the box and tucked it away under the pillow. ‘Are you making fun of me?’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.’
The sudden desire to stand up for herself and tell Joyce the whole truth carried Una forward in a breathless rush. ‘It’s all right. I know everyone thinks I’m daft – including you, it seems. But Angelo and I are truly in love and I don’t care who knows it.’
‘I don’t think you’re daft.’
‘I’ve never felt like this – it’s … I can’t explain. It’s wonderful. My heart almost bursts every time I see him. I think about him when I wake up and every minute of the day until I lay my head down at night. My dreams are full of him. Do you know what that’s like?’
‘Yes.’
‘To love someone so much that every single thing he says and does makes you love him more. Every glance, every touch.’
‘I do know.’ Joyce’s own heart ached for Una as well as for her own loss – and for all love that was threatened by this dreadful war.
‘Every touch,’ Una repeated as she hugged herself and rocked backwards and forwards.
‘You mean?’ There was a joyous, dreamy look on Una’s face that to Joyce could only suggest one thing. ‘Oh, Una!’
‘It was … Angelo is …’
‘What can I say?’
Suddenly Una broke free from the gossamer web of recent memory into the stark present. ‘You won’t tell anyone, will you?’
‘Of course not.’
‘I’m not ashamed of it. I just want to keep it to myself, that’s all. Some of the girls already have it in for me and Angelo.’
‘I know they do, but ignore them.’ Joyce’s advice was trotted out hard on the heels of Una’s last remark, as if it had been rehearsed.
Una realized this and was on her guard. She stood up and walked across the room. ‘Why, what are they saying about me? Tell me, Joyce – I want to know.’
Honest, plain-speaking Joyce had been brought to the point where anything except the blunt truth would be unfair. ‘If Ivy is anything to go by, it’s not only talk of you and Angelo that you need to worry about. It’s ridiculous, of course, but questions are also being asked about you and the German gunner.’
Una felt the fresh accusation like a hard blow to the stomach. She bent forward and struggled for breath.
Joyce put a hand on her back. ‘I thought you ought to know.’
‘Oh!’ Una gasped then she pushed Joyce away with her elbow. ‘Go away – please.’
‘Hang on – there’s no need to shoot the messenger. You’ve had a shock; let me stay until I’m sure you’re all right.’
Una pulled herself upright then rushed to the door. ‘Leave me alone!’
Joyce was left with no choice but still she hesitated. ‘I’ll find Brenda and send her up.’
‘No, no one.’ Una waited until Joyce was through the door then she slammed it hard. She took a jagged breath and staggered towards her bed, sank down on it. The ache in her stomach grew sharper, making her curl into a ball. Questions about me and the gunner. The desperate man who had stared death in the face. Me and the gunner. Free of the mangled wreckage, lost on the fell. The gunner and me. His face close to hers, her voice promising that she would let him escape and tell no one where he was. Him crouched in the dark barn. Me hesitating and pitying him, not crying out for help. Guilty as charged.
Brenda had made sure not to set off for Penny Lane until after Edith had left the hostel. ‘I didn’t want Mrs M to know about this little errand of mine,’ she’d confided in Ivy and Kathleen as she’d zipped up her jacket and jammed her hat onto her head. There was an unusual air of aimlessness about the place, with the snow-clearing team sticking close to the house and no one interested in rehearsing for tomorrow’s show despite Kathleen’s urging. ‘She’d only have tried to stop me.’
‘Why – where are you off to?’ Ivy was at the front door waiting for Dorothy and Jean to come back from work.
‘To Penny Lane.’ Brenda put on her gauntlets, ready for the off.
‘At this hour?’ It was already dark outside. Ivy guessed that Brenda was up to no good.
‘Yes – to collect table linen for the trestle tables for tomorrow’s buffet. I’ll be there and back in an hour.’
‘Table linen?’ Ivy gave a knowing wink, which Kathleen and Brenda both ignore
d.
Brenda breezed outside and kick-started her bike. There was an adventure to be had in riding the Sloper down the lonely lane with its one headlight carving a path through the thick darkness, a thrill in negotiating the snow-altered landscape, slowing down for icy bends, leaning into them then pulling the bike upright again for the straight stretches – past Peggy’s farm, on towards the village then taking a sharp turn up towards Swinsty Edge, over the white moor top to Penny Lane and the glinting yellow lights of the Canadian base.
She drove up to the gate and dismounted. ‘My name’s Miss Brenda Appleby,’ she announced to a sentry she’d never seen before. ‘I’ve come to see Flight Lieutenant Mackenzie. Please let him know I’m here.’
The guard spoke on the phone and within a minute a smiling Mac strode towards the gate. He was in uniform but without his hat, and his tie was loosened, the top button of his shirt undone. ‘Come with me, Miss Appleby. Let’s get you in out of the cold.’
‘I can’t stop long,’ she told him as they walked towards the temporary canteen building attached to the back of the original Victorian house. It was a Nissen hut with a corrugated iron roof and a row of tables and chairs running down each side. At the far end was a pot-bellied stove radiating heat throughout the room and beyond that a smaller storeroom for cutlery, dishes and tablecloths. Food from the kitchens in the old house was wheeled on trolleys along a narrow connecting ramp.
‘Long enough for a drink, I hope!’ Mac grinned as they reached the storeroom and he lifted a whisky bottle and two glasses down from a shelf.
Brenda blinked in surprise then grinned back.
‘Sit down.’ There were two chairs and a folding card table in a corner of the room. He set down the glasses with a loud clink then poured two drinks. ‘No ice, I’m afraid.’
‘That’s all right. I’m not keen on whisky so a few sips will do me.’ Oh, Brenda! Silently she mocked her own naivety then raised her glass. The whisky hit the back of her throat and burned its way down.
Mac sat down opposite, his sturdy legs straddling the flimsy table legs. He studied her small, cute nose, full lips and big brown eyes with undisguised admiration. ‘So, Miss Appleby …’
